


Being Weird

by Makizushi



Series: Is This Weird? [1]
Category: Homestuck
Genre: Child Abuse, Childhood Sexual Abuse, Emotional Manipulation, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Grooming, Incest, Physical Abuse, Pre-Sburb/Sgrub
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-15
Updated: 2017-12-12
Packaged: 2018-03-30 22:06:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 9,490
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3953509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Makizushi/pseuds/Makizushi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bro spends some quality family time together with Dave and Lil’ Cal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. December

**Author's Note:**

> Mind the tags. Though it provides some insight, reading this fic is not necessary for understanding ["It's Not Weird (Except When It Is)"](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3236942/chapters/7050842)
> 
> [Tsunamayo Makizushi's Writing Tumblr](http://tsunamayo-makizushi.tumblr.com)

His hair was soft.

It was probably good that his hair was soft. Bro liked soft things; spent time on them; worked with them in his hands. Fabric and cotton fluff and Dave’s fine, soft hair like white thread. He messed up Dave’s hair roughly, or patted him on the head so hard Dave wasn’t sure if he was being praised or punished. It was always like that; pats and swats and scruffing but Dave didn’t mind cuz that’s how cool dudes operated. He was 9 years old and he didn’t need stuffed animals and nightlights anymore. He was way too old to crowd Bro on the futon after a nightmare only to be kicked out or dumped back on his own bed.

The soft puppets Bro used to let him cuddle to sleep mostly stayed in haphazard piles of junk in his room and the living room now. It was only “mostly” because ever since he’d stopped taking one to bed with him, random ones sometimes appeared in his arms over-night. He’d go to sleep alone like a big kid only to wake up curled around some weird plushie or another. It was unsettling, especially the way Lil’ Cal seemed to stare at him from random spots in the room when it happened. There were more nightmares too, and more involving Lil’ Cal which only firmed his resolve to keep his puppet interactions to daylight hours only. Puppets were cool, and Lil’ Cal was the best, clearly, but consciousness was kind of a base requirement for truly appreciating a thing’s radness. It made total sense, so when Dave nervously started getting rid of his stuffed animals and shuffling anything plush into Bro’s messy piles he tried not to feel guilty. He wasn’t snubbing Lil’ Cal, he was just growing up.

Besides, there were other equally cool things he could use to decorate his room now. Fossils and other dead stuff he found online and carefully saved up for. It was a shame they lived in the middle of the city; according to the internet finding, cleaning, and preserving animal bones was a popular hobby among rural weirdos. As an inner-city weirdo Dave would be lucky to find road kill, much less an interesting intact skeleton. Dead shit was like, double cool; skulls and death plus science. Clearly this was a very grown up hobby for an awesome dude. He didn’t exactly ask Bro if he thought it was cool, but if it wasn’t Bro would say something. He was sure of it.

Hanging out with Bro was the best; always had been and always would be even if Bro didn’t exactly interact with Dave all that much when they were together. When he was little it hadn’t mattered, all Bro had to do was be present in the room and Dave assumed he had Bro’s full attention. Now that he was older Dave was starting to see that just because he was excited about something didn’t mean that Bro cared. It was a little bit humiliating to realize how much of a pest he was.

To try and fix that, Dave did his best not to whine for Bro’s attention, or irritate him by crawling all over him when he was excited or bored. That was little kid shit and he wasn’t a little kid anymore. He knew it was working, that he was becoming cool just like Bro. They strifed more, and Bro ruffled his hair more, and Lil’ Cal followed him around more. That last thing was also… obviously a good thing because usually Lil’ Cal only hung out with the coolest of dudes, right?

Lil’ Cal was hanging out like usual, watching them play shitty videogames from somewhere in the living room. For a second Dave wondered at the fact that he could practically feel the puppet’s dead-eyed stare, but in his moment of distraction he lost control of his stupid skateboard dude and managed to glitch the game so badly it froze. Bro gave an almost silent huff of laughter and dragged Dave sideways for a noogie. After a few seconds of dismayed grumbling and wincing at the hard knuckles digging into his scalp, Dave found himself toppled against Bro’s side with his leather clad palm resting on the top of his head. Just resting there. Dave held his breath and stayed as still as possible. Bro didn’t usually… he almost never… his hand was really warm. He was too on-edge for it to be comfortable, but he couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this close to Bro.

Any second Dave expected to be shoved away, to be told to reset the game so they could start over, to be sent to his room and back into an isolation he hadn’t even recognized before. Instead Bro pet his head. At first he just mussed his hair more gently than normal, but it wasn't anything completely out of the ordinary. He smoothed it down like he was absently petting a cat, and Dave huddled against him completely frozen; terrified Bro would realize what he was doing, think it was lame, and stop. Dave shivered and relaxed a bit when Bro carded his fingers through his hair, lightly scratching his scalp. The inside of his head went fuzzy and indistinct with pleasure. This must have been how dogs and cats felt when they were petted.

Dave wasn’t sure if he wanted to fall asleep or start crying; he could have stayed like this for hours. His hair felt silky smooth under Bro’s hand and he swore he’d let it grow out like a girl’s if it meant having it touched and played with like this. Bro was scratching his scalp intentionally now and if Dave could have purred he wouldn’t have been able to stop himself. As it stood there was probably a doofy smile on his face but he couldn’t bring himself to care. Sometimes Bro's fingers almost trailed down onto the back of his neck, but then he'd drag his fingers through Dave's hair the other way so that it needed smoothed down again. The process relaxed him immensely and he finally melted into Bro’s side, closing his eyes happily. No one ever touched him unless they were pushing him, or strifing him, or hitting him. One of Bro’s fingers trailed lightly around the shell of his ear. His breath shook and he might have made a small, contented noise when suddenly Bro stood up and walked away.

Dave watched him disappear into the bathroom, feeling bereft but then also… kind of weird. He was right before – Bro _never_ did stuff like that. The game’s characters twitched and glitched on the screen but Dave didn’t feel like playing videogames anymore. He slunk into his bedroom and propped the door mostly closed so that it wouldn’t be weird when Bro came back out. If it was weird he might not do it again.


	2. February

His cheeks were soft.

It was probably good that his cheeks were soft, even though it meant his round baby face showed bruises spectacularly. Of all the soft things Bro made by cutting stuff up and putting it back together better, Dave showed wear and tear the hardest. His obnoxiously pale skin was like canvas but usually he wasn’t painted up so pretty where people could ogle and stare. It went to show though; poor materials made an inevitably shitty product no matter how talented the artist.

They were supposed to be strifing but Dave was cold and tired and he didn’t want to fight anymore. Trying to abscond hadn’t been his brightest idea ever; Bro caught him by his shirt collar and smacked him across the face with his sword handle. A tooth, one of the big ones on the bottom, popped out of his mouth along with a stream of blood and spit. When Bro dropped him he picked it up and gingerly prodded the place it used to be with his tongue. At least his shades weren’t broken, they had just skittered across the roof. It was supposed to be different now that he was older and had almost all of his adult teeth. He was supposed to be cooler but he still managed to fuck it up constantly. Crying with great, hiccupping sobs was for stupid babies and sissies and little bitches so he wasn't going to do that. He wasn't.

Bro and Lil’ Cal left in disgust and went back to the apartment. If nothing else Dave was glad he hadn’t been tossed down the stairs again. That was always hit or miss; sometimes he just lost some skin and collected bruises, but other times something got split open and Bro had to give him stitches. Once he smacked his head so hard a lump showed for days and Bro wouldn’t let him sleep for what felt like ages. After spitting copiously and scrubbing his face clean of nonexistent tears Dave collected his glasses and followed Bro.

In the apartment Dave did his best to ninja his way to the freezer. Even when there wasn’t any food in there it was still turned on. The challenge was to find something to put on his face that wouldn’t put an eye out. Fortunately he found an icy pair of brass knuckles without too many spikes and pressed it to the spot where his tooth used to be, hoping that the cold would seep through his skin and dull the ache. That tooth had been loose for a few days now, he was lucky to have it out. He was lucky Bro put up with him being so pathetic.

Out of the corner of his eye he noticed Lil’ Cal perched on a pile of fireworks that had taken up residence in the sink. He looked like he was about to blast off into space via butt rocket. In the split second it took him to have that inane thought Bro cornered him against the counter. Dave flinched hard and gripped his makeshift ice knuckles tightly, but Bro didn’t resume the strife he’d abandoned. Instead he picked Dave up under his armpits like he weighed nothing and plopped his butt on the counter next to Cal and their collection of dangerous kitchen accessories.

There was nothing horribly wrong with his face so Dave didn’t understand why Bro pulled his hand away and plucked the knuckles out of his grasp. But then he was touching Dave’s face gently, like he was worried it hurt or something. This was weird, but also… really nice. Usually it took a major injury for Bro to pay attention to him, and then it hurt like a bitch when he cleaned and bandaged it properly. In the past couple of months or so Bro _had_ been being nice to him on random occasions. He’d gotten a handful more head scratching sessions, each of which stood out in his memory as strange but... good.

Bro hooked Dave’s shades off his face and pushed forward so he was standing between Dave’s knees. Even sitting on the kitchen counter his face was only level with Bro’s chin. With his shades off Dave felt a weirdly compelling urge to look around the room. It wasn’t like he’d never seen the kitchen in regular light before but – Bro grabbed Dave’s chin and forced him to face forward. There was an oppressive, angry weight to the air and everything was suddenly hella intense and Dave didn’t know what to do. For all that Bro smacked him around for being a motor-mouth these oddly heavy situations that had been happening with increased frequency shut him up like nothing else could.

This was weird though, like, _really_ weird so Dave hesitantly opened his mouth to ask “Bro, wh-” but his voice died in his throat when a big thumb smoothed itself softly over his lips. Bro ran his fingers up along Dave’s jaw and then over his chubby, baby fat cheek. The multi-color art exhibit forming there hurt when Bro’s fingers brushed it, pressed into it, but he hissed and tried not to flinch away. Whatever was going on, there were lots of things that hurt worse than lightly prodding a bruise. Bro stroked his face again and again, and each time the thrumming, violent atmosphere lessened. The whole side of Dave’s face tingled pleasantly, like how his scalp felt when being pet. Maybe this was just another version of that. Maybe it was an apology for knocking his tooth out. Maybe it was a test that Dave desperately needed to pass.

He was starting to get into the fuzzy, comfortable place in his head where he could just focus on being touched and paid attention to. The sharp little jabs of pain and the weirdness of the situation weren’t helping, but when Bro ran his fingers around Dave’s ear and up into his hair he blissed out for a while, just happy to feel safe. Now both of Bro’s hands were holding his face gently, and he could feel Bro’s breath warm in his hair. Thumbs ghosted over his closed eyes, fingers pressed lightly into his temples, and palms fit Dave's cheeks like they'd been molded for each other. Bro was pressed up against the counter so that Dave’s legs dangled on either side of his waist. It was almost like being held and cuddled back when he was really little and sick or just fussy. Dave wished he knew how he was meant to respond. His arms hung limply by his side and his breathing came is short little puffs.

This felt nice, it always felt nice, but Bro never mentioned it later and he always absconded before Dave had enough. He wondered if there could even be enough of this happysafewarm feeling. Bro's thumb dragged over Dave's lips again, and he heard Bro sigh lightly. Dave hoped he hadn't done anything wrong; he felt like parched earth, soaking up soft touches like rain. He leaned into it like a plant turning its face to the warm sun and he didn't want it to stop. He got lost in the sensation of his soft cheeks being pressed and stroked by sword and sewing callused fingers, of Bro’s forehead resting on his hair. Then something sharp jabbed him in the ear, and when he flinched back he saw that he was alone and wearing his shades again.

The swelling in his face and the ache in his mouth came back tenfold now that he wasn’t being distracted from it. It was almost enough to overwhelm the ghost of a kiss he felt lingering on his cheek. Actually, he was probably imagining that Bro had pressed his lips to the bruise on his face for a fraction of a second. There was no way that happened; what a weird, babyish thing to fantasize about. Dave went back to digging through the freezer for something cold to put on his injuries, uncomfortably aware of Lil’ Cal’s eyes boring into the back of his neck. His new Tooth Fairy bait, sticky with half dried blood, lay forgotten on the counter were it had fallen out of his hand.


	3. May

His neck was soft.

It was probably good that his neck was soft, even though it was extremely vulnerable in a fight, because Bro’s fingers had been moving lower and lingering there longer each time each time he became inexplicably affectionate. Dave wasn’t sure how to act around Bro anymore. Besides strife practice and the occasional video game they still didn’t interact all that much. The one time Dave made the mistake of trying to initiate cuddles Bro dragged him to the roof, strifed him hard, and chucked him down the stairs when he lost. He missed two days of school after that, and would have skipped more if Bro hadn’t dragged him out of his hiding place in the closet and told him to stop moping.

That was about a month ago and Dave was cautiously, cursing himself for stupidity the whole time, trying to ease his way back into Bro’s good graces. It felt like ages since Bro had touched him and, even though that was normal, it felt like he’d been abandoned. Back when he was little he got Bro’s attention by chattering nonstop, butting into whatever Bro was doing, and even clinging to him like an annoying monkey. None of that stuff ever really worked though, and Dave was old enough now to recognize how irritating he was. There had to be cooler, more grown up ways to get Bro’s attention that didn’t get on his nerves.

Right now Dave was sitting on the floor in front of the futon between Bro’s feet. They were playing some incredibly glitchy Japanese fighting game Bro had found somewhere. It was bad but like, ironically bad or something. Dave didn’t quite understand the way Bro had explained it. In any case, Dave was on the floor where he could easily reach up to knock Bro’s controller and mess him up; an essential element to any fighting game. Lil’ Cal was sprawled in Dave’s regular spot on the couch and he didn’t have the ~~nerve~~ heart to move him.

Somehow, through a combination of random button smashing and springing from the floor into Bro’s lap at the exact right moment, Dave’s character KO’ed the absurdly beefy douchebag Bro was playing. She did an absurd victory dance on screen, complete with gravity defying titties and high pitched giggle. Dave flung his arms up and shouted in victory - he almost _never_ beat Bro at stuff! – then he deflated like a balloon. They were playing the game _ironically_ , he’d forgotten, and it wasn’t cool to get so excited about stupid stuff. He mumbled, “Sorry Bro…” while sliding back to the floor, but Bro grabbed him around the waist and pulled him back.

It was such a surprise he almost dropped the controller, but he noticed Bro wasn’t holding his anymore so it might not have mattered. This was weird; he was sitting in Bro’s _lap_ , he couldn’t remember ever sitting in Bro’s lap. Were they going to play videogames like this? It would be a lot easier to sabotage each other if so. But seriously, what?

His hands went nerveless but he heard the plastic creak in his grip when Bro wrapped his arms around Dave and hugged him. It was… It was nice. It _was_ nice even if it reminded him of some of the dreams he’d been having. They were difficult to remember, but in the one last night there were things with teeth and weird eyes wrapping him up so that he could hardly breathe. Bro pulled him flush against his front and dropped his face to Dave’s neck.

The seams in his shitty off-brand controller bit into his palms and he stared at the TV without really seeing it. Maybe if Bro hadn’t been pinning his arms to his side it wouldn’t have made him think about being squeezed by monsters in the dark. The hot breath on his neck sent shivers down his spine and it seemed like those shivers were sending scouting parties out to his arms and legs. Bro’s parted lips just barely brushed his neck, but he could feel it like they were electrified. The shiver army conquered and set up camp in his stomach so that he couldn’t tell if he was anxious, nauseous, or simply jittery from the adrenalin high of beating Bro and then getting hugged in Bro’s lap - _he was in Bro’s lap ohmygod_.

It was just… a lot of body contact and maybe Dave wouldn’t have felt so overwhelmed if the feeling of Bro’s lips against his neck felt the same as having fingers in his hair. It didn’t feel bad exactly, but it didn’t feel safe either; it didn’t make the inside of his head fill with comfortable white noise. Bro’s breath tickled the tiny invisible hairs on his neck. This was good though, at least, it was better than being ignored. As long as he didn’t mess it up maybe Bro would like him again.

The stupid shivering had moved its way to his lungs and his breath came out embarrassingly stuttery. Dave prayed Bro wouldn’t notice his lack of chill but all of that flew out of his mind when Bro squeezed him even more tightly and opened his mouth against Dave’s neck. He gasped in surprise because it was hot and damp and Lil’ Cal was right there why was he _always_ right there in his room and in his dreams and _god_ this was _weird_ and _confusing_ and he _didn’t know what to fucking do_.

A smarting pain stung his neck and somehow that was better. Bro hurt him all the time – well, not ALL the time – and for good reasons like helping him be stronger or for being a brat. Dave closed his eyes tightly and tried to breathe. There was a reason for this, all Dave had to do was figure it out and he’d know what to do. The only thing was he didn’t have any space to think when he was all wrapped up like this. Stinging pain was followed by soft warmth, and again and again in slightly different spots each time. Bro slid one hand down to his hip so that his arm was stretched across his stomach, the other wrapped around his chest and pinned both his arms down. He felt Bro’s fingers digging into his shoulder but really it was easier to name the places Bro _wasn’t_ touching him. It was like being strapped down for a roller coaster ride but warmer and upsettingly damp.

Roller coasters made him nauseously hyped up just like this; falling made him sick just like this. Dreams where he drowned in puppets, where he was so petrified he couldn’t scream, where he died and died and died felt like this. But Bro wasn’t _doing_ anything and there was no reason for his heart to be racing a million miles an hour. Patches of his skin were cold from being damp and exposed to the air, but it felt like Bro’s mouth would burn him like a brand. The controller was still in Dave's hands, awkwardly pressed into his leg and he could have dropped it but he didn't know what he'd do with his hands otherwise so it functioned like a weird, multicolored lifeline. He was being desperately uncool and if Bro could just give him a second to breathe or even just tell him what was going on he was sure he’d fine.

As it was Bro shifted under him and squashed the breath from Dave’s lungs. His neck _hurt_ suddenly and the controller finally clattered to the floor – did Bro just _bite_ him? – and then Bro’s arms fell away it all stopped. Dave sat frozen, still on Bro’s lap, but he wasn’t being held in place anymore. Usually Bro left very suddenly after being weird like this, but this time he continued it by petting Dave’s head for a bit. It was a lot less intense than before but maybe Bro would still tumble Dave off his lap and flash away in a moment.

After being so hyped up for so long it only took a couple of minutes for Dave to crash under the relaxing influence of head scratches. He was barely conscious for Bro laying him down on the futon in the spot Lil’ Cal used to be. Bro disappeared into his own room, and when Dave startled awake in the middle of the night he was clutching a particularly hideous neon green smuppet. After flinging it away from him and getting his bearings, he crept into his blissfully puppet free room and slept poorly for the rest of the night.


	4. July

His back was soft.

It was probably good that his back was soft, except where rough, puffy scars stretched across it. If he were as good at fighting as he should have been his back would be entirely soft. Each mark was a reminder of how he’d messed- how he’d fucked up. Swords were extremely cool but also very serious business, so he deserved what he got when he didn’t measure up. The only problem was the time between strife practices had been getting shorter and shorter, so he had to learn how to fight with sore limbs and bruised ribs.

Rest also started coming in short supply. Nightmares plagued his sleep almost all the time now, and he rarely slept through the night. Plus it was so disgustingly hot that getting to sleep at all was a challenge. Without school as a distraction, and without any way to escape the heat and the exhaustion and the dull aching pain, Dave couldn’t help but feel a bit resentful toward existence in general.

Maybe that was part of the reason why, after he startled awake one early morning, he refused to cover his disgusting, marked up body with more suffocatingly hot clothes. Bro didn’t like him going around undressed but screw it, let the neighbors see how much of a fuckup he was. Dave stalked into the living room to try and find some food to calm his howling stomach. He almost made it to the likely empty kitchen before he noticed Bro was still at his computer desk despite the fact that the sun was creeping over the horizon.

He turned his chair at Dave’s less than ninja stealth and they both looked at each other tiredly. Bro gestured in his general direction. “What are you doing up? And naked?”

The question stung him, he was wearing boxer shorts just like Bro. “I’ve got just as much on as you do, it’s fuckin’ hot. It’s not like I’m tearing ass around the apartment buck naked like a 3 year old.”

“Nah, with that smart mouth on ya you gotta be almost 5.” Bro turned back to his computer, clearly dismissing him. General frustration solidified into a specific anger. Bad Idea warning bells sounded in his mind, but he stomped to the kitchen anyway. A moment’s search quickly revealed that his quest was useless. After banging cupboards and drawers around louder than absolutely necessary he stormed back out, hoping there were some snacks he’d forgotten about in his room.

Before he could make it back to his room to sulk Bro caught him by the arm and pulled him over to his computer chair. “What are you bangin’ around for, you have any idea what time it is?” Dave didn’t answer. He was too annoyed to care if he got a whoopin’ for waking the downstairs neighbors. Bro sighed and ruffled his hair. “Come’ere.”

Bro started to draw Dave close, but he was in _no mood_ for this touchy-feely crap. He ducked his head away and tried to pull his arm out of Bro’s grasp. Bro’s expression didn’t change, but his body went tense. He jerked Dave back over to him and, without warning, dragged him half into his lap. It was awkward, and sticky, and _irritating_. Dave pushed himself away and tried to sound as dismissive as Bro had earlier. “Bro it’s too fucking hot for this shit. You wanna cuddle someone when it feels like we’re trapped in Satan’s sweat drenched butt crack go find Lil’ Cal.”

An irritated huff escaped Bro’s mouth and he hauled Dave up onto the computer chair with him by his arms. Dave was incredibly done with Bro being such an unimaginable asshole and making fun of him constantly. Why couldn’t he just be mad without Bro making it a goddamn _event_? He wiggled and shoved just to be annoying, half convinced Bro would just drop him flat on the floor. After a few long, bruising, frustrating moments of being manhandled like a disobedient brat in the grocery store Dave was settled in Bro’s lap, his thighs spread around Bro’s waist. The plastic arms of the computer chair dug painfully into his knees when he tried to move, and his feet stuck out behind the chair awkwardly. Everywhere their skin touched was disgustingly sticky and damp. Bro’s large, gloved hand spread across Dave’s back, pulling him close and preventing him from absconding. Dave just barely restrained himself from howling, he was so _angry_.

There was just no _fucking_ reason for Bro to be acting like such a douchebag right now and Dave was completely sick of it. It was hot, and he was tired, and hurting, and _hungry_ and there was no _food_ in the apartment and Bro was just _trolling_ him like it was _so funny_ when he got _mad_. Dave smacked his hands as hard as he could against Bro’s bare chest and pushed. They rocked so badly the chair nearly overturned, and Bro dug his fingers into Dave’s back to keep them both from crashing to the ground.

Dave didn’t care, he was so over this that NASA was funding the expedition. “Bro sto-AH!” Bro grabbed a chunk of Dave’s hair and wrenched his head back. It was the little tells that made Dave go cold inside, like his anger had been doused with ice water. The way Bro didn’t just hold him still, but dug bruises into his skin with his fingertips; the way he twisted his wrist just a bit to pull Dave’s hair and make his eyes water. Small, unnecessary hurts that conveyed Bro’s emotions far better than his words or body language ever did.

He’d mess- fucked up, he knew he’d fucked up; he was frozen in place waiting to see what would happen. Moving, even breathing, felt dangerous. There was a stain on the ceiling and Dave watched it go in and out of focus as he tried to force an apology through his lips. Bro bent forward and put his mouth on Dave’s neck again. He had a second of panicked anticipation before it hurt; sharp and wet and scary.

The pain shocked him back into motion. His voice was high and embarrassingly small. “I’m sorry, Bro, I’m sorry. Plea- ah!” Bro nipped him hard one more time before changing to stinging, much less painful little marks. That was good, that was less scary. Dave closed his eyes and quietly gasped more apologies. “I’m sorry, I won’t- I won’t do it again I- nnh, I know I was a brat, I’m sorry.”

The hand on his back left off digging bruises into his ribs and smoothed up and down his skin soothingly. At some point, he didn’t remember when, he’d started trembling rather badly. Slowly, so aware of every movement he was hardly able to focus on anything else, he balled his hands into fists against Bro’s chest and tried to stop himself from shaking. It was no good losing his cool so completely where Bro could see; it would just get him in deeper trouble.

Dave tilted his head, well, he tilted it as much as he could with his hair held so tightly, to give Bro more room to… to ki- to do stuff to his neck. Bro loosened his grip so that he wasn’t pulling out hair and started trailing patterns on Dave’s back with his other hand. His fingers ran over each raised scar and healing bruise like they would create a picture when connected together the right way. It felt nice, more than nice; if this hadn’t been scary and if Bro wasn’t… if Bro was just rubbing Dave’s back it would have felt better than head pets. He felt Bro’s nails scratch him lightly, up and down and round and round in circles.

He was doing good, he must have been doing good because Bro was hardly hurting him at all anymore and that was good. Dave wanted… he wanted to be good and to not be tired and hurting and hungry. Bro’s breath was hot on his neck just below his ear and Dave lifted his chin like an offering. He wanted Bro to like him; he wanted to be cool and not annoying. The hand in Dave’s hair slipped down to the back of his neck and held him firmly. “Bro, I…” His voice wobbled so badly he gave up speaking for fear of bursting into tears. Dave wanted Bro to pay attention to him and care for him and _love_ him.

In one impossibly fast and slow movement Bro pulled away from his neck, and pressed his mouth to Dave’s. This time they both froze. A tiny startled noise started at the back of Dave’s throat and didn’t quite make it past his teeth. His eyes were open so wide he couldn’t see, and his short fingernails bit into the palms of his hands. Bro hesitated, he _hesitated_ so that people could _see_ , and then kissed Dave’s cheek, and his nose, and his forehead.

A moment, a _second_ , before Dave broke down crying, all lost and confused, Bro shoved him hard off his lap and onto the floor. He landed heavily on his back, his head banging against the thin carpet. By the time Dave managed to sit up and rub his new bruise gingerly Bro had turned back to his computer, like he’d already forgotten Dave was there. Dave felt a moment of panic, he’d done something wrong, he’d messed it up somehow.

Every time he thought his voice couldn’t get quieter, younger, it surprised him. “Bro?” Early morning sunlight changed the living room so that it looked like a strange place he’d never been, couldn’t recognize. Bro glanced down at him. There was a mocking twist to his mouth, but he didn’t look angry.

“Go back to bed kid. Take the living room fan with you.” Dave blinked a few times, trying to process what had just happened. Bro _was_ making fun of him; he had been the whole time! Before he could work himself back up into a temper tantrum Bro gestured sharply, making Dave flinch. “Get going.”

Dave scrambled to unplug the fan and drag it to his room. He heard Bro stand up, but when he looked no one was there. The tension in the room shattered and Dave felt drained of everything, exhausted and empty. He stood the fan between his open window and his bed, hoping it would make the heat more bearable and sleep come easier.


	5. October

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shit gets a bit too real in this chapter for an M rating to be appropriate in my humbly paranoid opinion. Please be mindful of the change to Explicit.

His stomach was soft.

It was probably good that his stomach was soft; even when it felt hollowed out from hunger there was still some softness under the slight protrusion of his ribs and above his pokey hip bones. It was important in some indefinable way that he was soft and small and sweet. He felt smothered with the sourceless knowledge that soft, sweet things were good. Praiseworthy. Desirable.

A bright blackness surrounded him, different from the dull dark in his closet or behind his eyelids. Something wrapped around his waist and left trails of slime along his exposed belly, spelling out secrets or curses, he couldn’t tell. It didn’t hurt, not exactly, but where the _things_ touched him his body changed in some unidentifiable way. They painlessly seared the knowledge into his skin that he was becoming less and more simultaneously. He felt them pressing like they wanted to be in him, to burrow through his soft skin and into his squishy guts.

Dave knew what guts looked like; he dreamed hitting the table wrong, going through a window, stepping into a sword slash and seeing them bright and gory on the ground in front of him. This wasn’t a dream though, he felt awake. Everything was sharper, clearer, more real than a dream could be. Revulsion made him struggle and squirm; the things had shapeless gaping mouths and countless perfectly round blue eyes. The more he moved the tighter they held him until finally he gasped his last desperate breath-

\- and startled awake in his bed. At least, for a moment he was pretty sure he was in his bed, except something was still wrapped heavily around his waist. A spike of panic tore through him; maybe he’d fallen into another nightmare? After the clarity of his dream everything felt disturbingly unreal. An oppressive weight behind him froze the air in his lungs and the warmth of his blankets were nowhere to be found. The hand on him - was it a hand? - stopped holding him still and started rubbing him soothingly, like he had a terrible stomach ache. Usually that sort of thing was supposed to be relaxing but Dave was so worked up from the dream that each stroke only made him more tense.

Half asleep, he cringed away from the thing touching his abdomen through his shirt only to press his back against a solid wall of warm _something_ . Dave whimpered, utterly confused, but recognized Bro’s voice when he went “Shhh” against the top of his head. It was Bro, Bro’s hand was on his soft belly, Bro’s body caged him against the wall, _Bro_ was in his _bed_. For a long moment Dave was frozen in shock, and then Bro’s hand started to move again. It was weird, it was weird, Bro was in his bed and _it was weird_.

Dave stayed frozen, like if he was still enough things would start making sense again. Instead Bro’s fingers traveled down and brushed the hem of his ratty pj top. The terror from the dream slowly abated, replaced with a kind of leaden, immobilizing confusion. He was so lost that he didn’t even know what his options were. How was someone supposed to react to waking up with their Bro in their bed? He wished he were still asleep, it’s impossible to make mistakes while unconscious.  Instead Dave did the next best thing and lay as limp and still as a corpse.

…

As a _sleeping person_ , that’s what he meant. Why was he thinking about corpses? That was weird.

Slightly chilled fingers crept up Dave’s abdomen under his shirt and lightly stroked his mostly smooth, soft skin. There had been more than a few times where Dave fucked up badly enough in a strife that he got cut, and a handful of those cuts had left thin pink scars. He worried about those all over again, not only because they were badges of failure but because they made him rough, jagged like broken glass. Broken and useless for… whatever Bro was using him for.

None of that seemed to matter at the moment and Dave didn’t know if he was relieved or frightened. His earlier panic had pressed him against Bro from his shoulders to his hips, and now Bro’s hand petted him more firmly, making the contact more concrete. The more he thought about it the more all of this attention made him shiver because Dave knew he was damaged. He also knew how much value afforded safety. Bro handled working electronics with greater care than people usually gave newborn infants. Broken things accumulated in piles around the apartment; good for nothing at all.

Half asleep in his bed with Bro’s cold fingers following the bottom curve of his ribcage Dave was so vulnerable it made him dizzy. His body shivered again and he couldn’t make himself stop, all he could do was hope that each time Bro touched one of his scars he ignored the defect and got on with whatever this was.

The rough pads of Bro’s fingertips skated lightly down to the hem of his pants and back up again, making a circuit around the skin exposed when his shirt was rucked up. It was nothing but that for a while, steady and soothing. The fear and anxiety that had built up slowly drained away, leaving Dave exhausted and strangely calm. Like each stroke of Bro’s fingers wiped away his awareness of himself and he slowly dropped into a dazed, half sleeping state. As his mind quieted, Dave noticed the way that Bro’s chest expanded with each deep inhale and tried to mimic that calm rhythm. Everything was quiet. Bro sighed into Dave’s hair and went still with his hand splayed wide over his stomach.

A heartbeat. Two breaths. A handful of ticks on the silent clock in Dave’s mind. Time drew itself out longer and longer until Dave thought Bro might have fallen asleep. He huffed quietly and mentally settled in for an awkward night spent wrapped in his Bro’s arms. Well, maybe not that awkward. It actually wasn’t awful, being held and cuddled like this. Nice really. Safe. Tense muscles Dave hadn’t even noticed relaxed and he felt himself lean into the warmth at his back.

Just as he was about to fall back asleep he felt Bro shift behind him, because he was a restless sleeper or to make himself more comfortable Dave didn’t know. He almost forgot himself and grumbled at Bro to settle down, like it was normal for them to share a bed, but he was shocked into holding his silence by feeling something hard pressing into his lower back. It was good that the room was so dark because Dave’s face burned when he quickly realized that Bro had a boner.

Now, he knew that this sort of thing happened to guys in their sleep sometimes; he’d had a beginning of puberty health class and unrestricted access to the internet. His first thought was a resounding ‘ _Ewww._ ’ If it were him, he’d be desperately embarrassed. Bro might have even found it weird, if he’d noticed. If he wasn’t asleep. Probably.

It would be better if Dave stayed very still and didn’t wake him up… right? It would be better if Dave didn’t move when Bro pressed his hand into the softness of Dave’s stomach. It would absolutely be best if Dave were asleep when Bro’s hand smoothed its way down his body, pressing hard enough into Dave’s abdomen that his hips canted back. Ideally no one, especially not Dave, would know what it felt like to have Bro’s hard on shift along the hollow in the base of his spine.

In that moment Dave vividly recalled his dream. The sliminess, the way being touched changed the nature of who he was. Made him simultaneously less himself as a person but more useful of a thing.

It was as though Dave were outside himself, looking down on the scene from about two feet above. His mind painted a vivid snapshot of his hair fanned out messily on the pillow with Bro’s mouth pressed warmly to the top of his head. His bare stomach was hollowed, retreating from Bro’s touch, his lower back exposed and vulnerable. The bulge in Bro’s boxers moved against him incrementally, so little that it might have only been the natural result of his breathing. Dave’s own fingers curled near his face and under his chin. Not protesting, or defending, or moving at all.

Time passed. A hurried breath, a dozen rabbit-like heartbeats, the tick-tick-ticking along of a clock that kept rhythm with the tiny, intimate movements against the small of his back. Bro stroked Dave’s stomach like he would a cat, top to bottom, no higher than his ribs or lower than his hipbones. It was just his stomach. It was nothing. Nothing at all.

It wasn’t long before Bro’s whole body went tense and Dave expected something awful to happen, retaliation for some unknown crime. Before his reawakened panic had a chance to build to the point where he started struggling, Bro sighed again, longer this time, and went back to gently tracing patterns over Dave’s skin with his fingertips. He even caught the hem of Dave’s shirt and pulled it down, smoothed it flat. The weight behind him lifted and the last thing Dave felt was Bro’s lips on the crown of his head. The old, frayed blanket Dave had owned since before he could remember made its reappearance and Bro vanished. It was like nothing had happened. Nothing at all.

When it finally felt safe enough for Dave to move even a little bit his hand traveled to touch the small of his back. His fingers came away sticky and damp, he could see a thread of it clinging between two fingers like a spider’s web. After a few steadying breaths, Dave rolled over to find the roll of toilet paper he used as tissues, only to clamp his unfortunate hand over his mouth to stifle a scream. Lil’ Cal was sitting on his nightstand, looking at him with his perfectly round, bright blue eyes.


	6. November

His butt was soft.

It was – probably? – good that his butt was soft, though he’d never really thought about it much. In the past Bro smacked it hard when he did something bad, or got too annoying, or happened upon him in a particularly awful mood. That sort of punishment was quickly replaced with strife practice as soon as he was old enough to hold a sword though. Dave’s butt had not featured in any of his interactions with anyone for years.

Then something weird happened one afternoon. He was draped over the back of the futon while playing his shitty second hand gameboy, too bored to sequester himself in his room but too cool to hound Bro for entertainment. He’d been hoping for a turntable lesson, or to watch a movie together that wasn’t too nightmare inducing. Instead Bro was sewing some kind of plush monstrosity to sell to weirdos online who failed to get the joke and took the puppet thing seriously. Their stupidity was cash toward Bro’s ironically terrible and creepy puppet porn empire in the making. Sewing materials were strewn around the living room, covering most of the horizontal surfaces; hence Dave’s precarious, almost upside down position on the futon.

Out of the corner of his eye Dave could see Bro staring at a bag of cotton and a few different blocks of foam. The more silent and motionless Bro got the more aware Dave became of his presence despite the seemingly relaxed atmosphere. Still, he wasn’t exactly expecting Bro to casually reach over and grope his ass. Dave squawked and jerked away in surprise, falling forward onto his face on the couch in the process. Instead of helping, Bro watched him attempt to struggle out of his impromptu headstand like an asshole. Dave heard him make an annoyed noise when his flailing knocked a pile of fabric onto the floor and felt himself lifted by the back of his shirt and choked as his collar drew tighter around his neck. Thankfully, Bro quickly dumped him on the floor to gasp and sputter.

“What the hell was that, Bro?” Dave clutched his neck but could still feel the hand on his butt, squeezing him almost hard enough to hurt. His face felt hot and while some of that was probably from having been upside down and then choked, he also felt… some kind of a way about being touched like that.

“Just research. Chill out.”

“Research?!” Dave’s voice squeaked with indignation. “For what?”

Bro turned back to his work, clearly dismissing the conversation. “Need to get the stuffing right. You were layin with your ass in the air like one of these little guys.” He nodded his head a fraction toward one of the new plush dolls he was designing. “Made it pretty easy to experiment.”

Dave’s face went impossibly redder and his mouth opened before checking in with his brain. “I’m _not_ one of those- those weird toy things!”

“No.” Bro paused in his work but didn’t bother looking at Dave. He sounded almost accusatory in his agreement. “You’re not.”

Dave sat in chilled silence for a few moments before retreating to his room.

After that it seemed like Bro happened to feel him up now and again, but never in weird way. Not really. Only sometimes. It was just pats on the back that happened to go a little too low, or punishments that got a little too out of hand.

Or a little too in hand.

Dave was used to getting swatted for being a lazy piece of shit when he was supposed to be exercising or practicing with his sword. Usually Bro would catch him on the back of the head and his vision would black out for a moment while he scrambled to get back to doing endless pushups or whatever else Bro demanded that day. Sometimes he’d get a swift kick in the ribs, or a smack that left his ears ringing if he decided to be difficult. It was scary, not knowing if he’d be able to keep going long enough to avoid getting hit.

But hearing the startlingly loud _crack_ of Bro’s leather clad hand against his butt, followed swiftly by intense, stinging pain was scary in a different way. The first time it happened Dave quickly scrambled up from where he’d been slumped against the doorframe, panting and wishing for water. He struggled to do more pull ups with his limp noodle arms on the flimsy portable bar Bro set up for him.

If he kept going Bro wouldn’t hit him again. He wouldn’t touch him like- he wouldn’t touch him. He wouldn’t let his hand linger afterwards on the quickly forming bruise. He wouldn’t joke about Dave slacking off on purpose because he liked the attention. Dave just had to keep going.

And going.

Some kind of horrible tension was building day by day as Bro acted stranger and Dave became increasingly skittish. Not that anything was wrong. The skittishness seemed to be making things worse; the more evasive Dave became the more obviously irritated Bro got. If he could just be a brave and normal and trusting little bro, while also being vigilant and tireless and fast and… and everything that Bro was, he’d be fine. Everything would go back to being normal and fine and not weird. Dave just needed to stop making it weird.

The roof was where things came to a head. It was always where things shook out, where Bro was the most intensely _Bro_ and Dave’s shortcomings were put into stark relief. It was a lot like a videogame; not the kind with victory over the final boss, but the kind where you grind forever to reach some weaker incarnation of the boss, one that’s going easy on you because you’re a stupid baby, but you _still_ get your ass handed to you every single time. You’ll never see the next stage of that game, kid. You’re trapped in the opening scene like Ecco the stupid fucking Dolphin, drowning over and over again in your own overwhelming failure.

That pervasive feeling of hopelessness and inevitability weighed Dave down even before the strife began. Bro was behind him, pressed to his back and physically hauling his limps into the correct stance instead of instructing him using words Dave was too stupid to follow. He tried not to shy away from Bro’s bruising grip or lean away from Bro's too warm body, but it was fucking impossible. Bro was _behind him_ where he _couldn’t see_ , touching him in ways he couldn’t anticipate. But leaning forward to put space between them ruined his stance, and twitching with half suppressed flinches made Bro have to dig his fingers in to hold him still.

By the time Bro stepped away with a barely audible noise of disgust Dave was trembling with the effort it took to suppress every single one of his instincts and stand motionless with Bro lurking behind him. The tip of his shitty sword betrayed how shaky he was no matter how violently he beat himself up inside for being a weakling.

“The fuck is wrong with you?”

“Sorry.” Dave’s voice came out tight and embarrassingly high pitched, drenched in anxiety. He saw Bro appear in his peripheral vision, irritation visible on his usually robotic features. _Shit._

“You don’t want my help anymore, kid? You don’t need it?”

“Sorry.”

“Did I ask for an apology? Answer the fucking question, brat.”

Dave managed to stammer, “N-no, I-” before the sound of metal slicing through the air cut him off and gave him barely enough warning to block a vicious overhead strike with a loud, teeth jangling _CLANG_. From that moment Dave reacted faster than thought, his body moving on its own in a desperate attempt to avoid or at least minimize the damage Bro was trying to inflict. Every step he took and move he made was wrong and he paid for that in sore wrists that couldn’t absorb the impact of Bro’s sword on his own, in blood running from his shoulder, in bruised ribs and scrapes filled with grit.

Dave would like to say that they exchanged blows, but the best he could do was to flinch away from swings that ought to have gutted him, but only ruined his already ratty clothes instead. Only left superficial gashes on his arms instead of removing them from his body. Only hurt him in manageable ways that he deserved.

The one opportunity he saw to go on the offensive happened after sweat was already pouring down his face and into his eyes, after blood had made his grip slick on the cheap handle of his shitty sword. Bro swept in a little too close, bringing Dave inside his reach but not so close that Dave’s shorter arms and sword were useless. But when Dave tried to strike Bro kicked him in the side so hard that his hands spasmed and his sword went skittering harmlessly across the roof. It was a feint, of course it was, Bro didn’t make mistakes like focusing on his opponent’s weapon so hard that he forgot they had legs. Stupid stupid _stupid!_

As soon as Dave got his legs under him and tried to scramble for his sword, Bro grabbed him by the back of his neck and squeezed so hard it felt like his head might come off. Panic overtook him and he started struggling and gasping “ _no no no stop no_ ” without really knowing exactly what he was objecting to. Being shaken like a dog toy didn’t help matters; Dave screamed and Bro snapped.

“The _fuck_ is coming out of your idiot mouth right now?”

When Dave couldn’t answer with anything but a whimper Bro hauled him over to the edge of the roof and forced him against the ledge. The alley below looked miles away when Bro bent him over the ledge and left him staring down at a messy death.

“You want me to stop wasting my time on you?”

Dave’s hands slapped and scrabbled against the brick exterior of the building. He tried to jerk away, to back up, to escape Bro’s bruising grip on the back of his neck and put himself back on solid rooftop but Bro’s hips pressed against his lower back and pinned him to the ledge. Dave’s glasses slipped forward on his nose and he was absurdly terrified they’d fall.

“ _‘No, no, no,"_ ” Bro mocked him, digging his nails into Dave’s neck. “I should give up. You want away from me so bad? I could let you go.”

Even with his throat seized up in fear Dave managed to squeak “No! Bro, don’t!”

“Don’t. What.”

Bro pushed and Dave felt his center of gravity _shift_. Sick, dizzy terror choked him and he went ridged, stopped struggling all at once. Dave’s toes were barely touching the roof; the only thing keeping him from tipping over the edge was Bro’s crotch against his ass. Dave pressed himself back into Bro as much as he could, the polar opposite of earlier when he’d have done anything for a few inches of space between them.

When he didn’t answer right away Dave felt Bro’s grip on the back of his neck loosen, and it clicked in a way that it never really had before that this was real. Really, really real. It wasn’t a game. He could die. Bro hated how weak and pathetic and obstinate he was so much that he could actually let him splatter across the pavement below like a gory modern art exhibit.

The words he hoped Bro wanted to hear fell out of his mouth like someone else was saying them. “Don’t stop. Please don’t, I’ll be good. I’ll try harder. I’ll be worth your time, I promise. Please, please, plea-”

Bro stepped away and Dave’s vision went white as he felt himself pitch forward a few more inches before being hauled back by his neck and thrown to the ground. Bro’s silhouette loomed over him, dark and sharp and impossibly huge. Dave was breathless with fear.

Then Bro was gone, and Dave was left by himself to shake and sob until he could manage the stairs without falling. It took what seemed like ages for the roof to feel solid and steady under him again.


End file.
